


Lit Your World With Just One Spark

by geckoholic



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Claiming, Claiming Bites, Complicated Relationships, Desperation, Light Masochism, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 05:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19419721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: When it comes to Munkata's heats, he and Mikoto have an understanding.





	Lit Your World With Just One Spark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Joan_of_Dark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joan_of_Dark/gifts).



> Super late treat, but no matter how often I had to relegate it to the backseat in the light of other deadlines, this one wouldn't stop screaming to be written. 
> 
> Partially beta-read by scribblemyname, but all remaining mistakes are most definitely mine.
> 
> Title is from "Too Late For Love" by John Lundvik.

The bar closed hours ago. Mikoto rarely bothers to check the old clock that hangs above the door to his apartment, structures his live by other means, but he guesses it's closer to morning than midnight at this point. He's reading a book Kusanagi lent him, doesn't pay much attention to the context or the whole picture, just lets the words wash over him. He can't sleep. He knows why. 

He's expecting a visitor. 

No clocks or calenders are needed to predict that visitor's arrival, either. Mikoto can sense him, feel him, a phantom ache crawling up his spine ever so often. They're not bonded, yet the number of times Mikoto laid claim to him during a heat has forged some sort connection between them anyway, and right now that connection is telling him that his omega is in agony. With a sigh, Mikoto glances at his phone. Munakata is so goddamn stubborn. Nature can't be overcome, not even by Kings. He'd try and call, urge Munakata to get over himself already and haul his ass over here, but he knows that's futile. They match in stubbornness. They match in other things, as well, although this is one of their more inconvenient similarities. 

Mikoto closes the book and leans back, rests his bare feet against the edge of the coffee table and stares at the water stains on the ceiling. His concentration is shot, anyway. He counts to ten, twenty, fifty. Won't be long now; he can feel the echo of Munakata's need. He can feel Munakata's resolve crumble, then shatter into a million tiny pieces. It's always the same – he waits until the pain and desperation become unbearable, and then he shows up at Mikoto's doorstep demanding relief. Not asking for it. _Demanding it._

By the time the door bell rings, Mikoto is already on his feet. He walks across the room at a leisurely pace and hits the electric strike. He steps aside and waits. 

Munakata is, unsurprisingly, a mess. His hair clings to his forehead, damp with sweat. His face is flushed. His eyes are glazed over as if he's in a fever. He's shivering. Mikoto frowns his disapproval at him and shakes his head at the state he's in, ushers him inside and closes the door. 

“Mikoto,” Munakata says, voice raw, and yet he's somehow still exuding authority, like this is a command rather than a plea. “I need you.” 

That's as close to begging as he'll come and if he were a lesser man, Mikoto would try and coax those pleas out of him, make him fall to his knees and beg to be fucked. While the mental picture has some merit, however, he'd never actually do that; Mikoto isn't a good man by most common standards, but at least he isn't cruel. He shucks off his jacket and pulls his shirt over his head, and he points Munakata to the king size bed that's sitting in the far corner of the apartment. 

It's invitation and permission at the same time, acknowledging the continued validity of their agreement. Munakata doesn't have to be shown the way. He knows where the bed is, knows where the condoms are, the lube, the towels. They've done this a couple times now, often enough to develop a routine. 

Munakata sits down on the bed and pulls off his boots. Only because he knows how to look for it, by now, Mikoto notices the almost imperceptible way his hands shake, the way he closes his eyes for seconds at a time to breathe through the cramps and the pain. And yet, he doesn't hurry, even takes the time to put his socks into his boots. He stands and slowly undoes his belt buckle, visibly pays attention not to crinkle his dress pants when he steps out of them, folds both those and his jacket once he's out of them. He only starts to get a little bit more impatient when he's down to his underwear; he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his briefs and pulls them down, steps out of them, and leaves them were they fall, scowling down at them but not bothering to pick them up and so them out. 

Then he stands there, naked, head cocked to the side, eyes narrowed and gritting his teeth – impatient but too proud to ask again for what he so desperately needs. Mikoto meets his eyes, smirks in a likely futile attempt to hide the fact that he's gotten lost in his observations. He belatedly lets his eyes roam Munakata's body, slender yet nowhere near weak; the physique of someone who fights out of necessity, not excitement. 

“Sit down,” Mikoto instructs, and Munakata hardly hesitates at all before he obediently sits on the edge of the mattress. 

With slow, measured steps, Mikoto walks up to the bed. He comes to a stand between Munakata's legs and glances down. Munakata's cock is half-hard, as it's likely been since the heat started, and it twitches under his gaze. Munakata doesn't like to be looked at – much less when he's like this, a slave to his biology and forced to hand the reins to someone else – which is a shame because Mikoto _likes_ looking. He gives up on the cocky facade, his smile growing softer as he kneels down and pushes Munakata's knees further apart. The latter's head falls back on a moan, eyes tightly shut as if in embarrassment, but he dutifully spreads his legs. 

Mikoto mouths at the base of his cock, inhaling his scent; it's familiar, sweet and rich and seductive and, this close, all over Mikoto's senses. He growls, fingers brushing over Munakata's slick hole. Need rises in him now, too, an automatic response to smelling an omega in heat, _his_ omega, but it's still too early for the main event. Munakata is still too tense. Gently, he weighs Munakata's half-erect cock in his palm and laps at the tip, sucks just the very head into his mouth, and the resulting moan sounds as surprised, as reluctant as the first. He rests his free hand on Munakata's thigh, feels him trembling underneath his palm. He's trying to hold back, clinging to his dignity with a white-knuckled grip even though he must know that a night like this is sure to leave it in tatters. At least in his world view; Mikoto, on the other hand, can't find anything shameful in an omega giving himself over to his alpha, letting go, lost in pleasure. There's no sight more beautiful than an omega's face twisting in ecstasy, no sound that could be sweeter than those moans and whines. 

Munakata's cock is filling up under Mikoto's tongue, and Mikoto takes him deeper. His head bops up and down, a little bit further each time, until he's almost got him to the root. He swallows around him, then sucks him off hard and fast, and before long Munakata keens his way through his first release of the night. The taste of him lingers even after Mikoto pulls off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

When he sits back on his haunches, Munakata is staring at him, wide-eyed, his lips plush and reddened from how he must have bitten them to keep in the noises that wanted to spill out. Mikoto shakes his head, fond and yet somewhat annoyed, a unique combination he associated with Munakata pretty much from the day they met. 

“Stop resisting,” Mikoto says with a smile. “I've got you. That's why you're here, isn't it?” 

He doesn't wait for a reply, knows he won't get one, and pushes at Munakata to lie back with a hand placed squarely on his chest. Munakata's breath hitches audibly, but yet again, he doesn't resist. He hisses when Mikoto presses a finger to his entrance, head twisted to the side so he doesn't have to watch, but that's okay; Mikoto will drink in the stunning picture he's going to make in his stead, will commit it all to memory. He presses a finger inside Munakata, the tight ring of muscle fluttering around the intrusion, slick easing the way. In no time at all he can add a second, then a third, and that's when Munakata's breath goes erratic, out of control. He rocks back onto Mikoto's fingers, and even though he just came a few minutes ago his balls are already drawn up close to his body, all set to go again. Mikoto hums in approval and massages him through another orgasm, this one leaving his chest painted in white, hot stripes of come. Munakata moves to wipe the mess away with hem of the sheet, but Mikoto firmly shakes his head. He runs a finger through it, gathers some up and brings it to his mouth to lick it away. Munakata stares at him in disbelief, looking torn between arousal and unbearable embarrassment, so naturally Mikoto does it again. He leans forward to lick off some more directly from Munakata's body. He takes Munakata's spent, soiled cock back into his mouth and swirls his tongue around the head to clean it, and Munakata keens. 

Overstimulation's hitting already, then. That's nice. Doesn't mean Mikoto has any intention to let him gather his wits about him. 

He pops off Munakata's cock with an obscene smacking noise and traces his fingers down Munakata's perineum. One hand pressed to Munakata's stomach to hold him down, hold him in place, at least symbolically, he puts two fingers back inside him at once, twisting them just so. 

Munakata's back arches off the bed, but he doesn't make any real attempt to get away. His body needs this right now; the constant attention, a certain level of arousal and adrenaline, all of it working him up to being claimed. He pushes into the intrusion and Mikoto adds another finger, shifts his focus from assaulting his prostate to getting him open and ready. He looks up and watches Munakata's face, the way pleasure smooths the constant worry off his features, eyes shut, mouth open on a moan. It makes him look younger, more innocent, and Mikoto reaches up to cup Munakata's cheek with his other hand. Munakata angles his head into the gentle touch, seeking more, and Mikoto can't help but abandon his preparations and climb onto the bed, leaning over Munakata for a deep, filthy kiss. 

Once they've parted, Munakata blinks his eyes open and stares back at Mikoto, something unreadable in his gaze. He returns the gentle touch, caressing Mikoto's jaw and cheek, and kisses him again. It's slower, less frantic and because of that somehow more intimate, and at the end of it he reaches down to undo the belt on Mikoto's jeans. Mikoto holds still while Munakata undoes the button as well and pulls down the zipper, and works Mikoto's fly open far enough to pull out his cock. 

He wraps his hand around Mikoto, and a shudder runs down Mikoto's spine. He's fully hard, has been for some time, precome leaking into his underwear, and when Munakata thumbs at the slit it's his turn give off a dirty moan. He wasn't even aware – no, purposely ignored – how much he wanted to be touched, and now that it's happening his whole body pulses with renewed arousal. 

Much too soon, Munakata lets go of him, and Mikoto complains with a displeased huff. The disappointment doesn't last, however, seeing how Munakata rolls unto his stomach and pushes himself onto all fours, upper body lowered to the mattress, ass in the air, and ohh but that surely isn't an invitation Mikoto would ever refuse. 

He slides off the bed to shed his jeans and underwear, shoes and socks, and then kneels behind Munakata on the bed. He lines himself up and pushes inside – carefully at first, to give Munakata time to get used to the stretch. Once he's all the way inside, he waits, aware of the heavy panting from Munakata; he knows he isn't small, and the knot will stretch Munakata even further. He doesn't start moving for real until Munakata presses back against him, circling his hips, but then sets a brutal pace: quick, long thrusts, not allowing Munakata any kind of respite between almost pulling out and crashing back into him. He knows Munakata's body by now, knows how hard and deep he likes to be fucked, knows the right angle to catch his prostate on every shove, and he wraps his hand around Munakata's cock in a reach-around so he can jerk him in concert with his thrusts. 

Munakata wobbles underneath him and finally shifts to brace himself on his elbows, and Mikoto grins at the idea that he's now longer able support his own weight. He plants one hand on the side of Munakata's hip, for support as well as to direct his movements every time he pushes back onto Mikoto's cock. He doesn't take direction well, never has, and even in bed his pride tends to reign over his biology; the instincts of an omega. And that's the exact reason why Mikoto lives for the moment where discipline and superiority fall away and leave behind the animal instinct and cravings of an omega bowing for an alpha. Munakata freezes, spasming around him. He growls. Mikoto squeezes forefinger and thumb around the head of his cock, an empty threat and yet one that's proven effective in the past. Almost immediately, Munakata's moans increase in volume, in desperation. He doesn't surrender easily, and therefore it's all the more rewarding when he does; Mikoto has to close his eyes for a second and take a deep breath to keep from coming right there. 

Not yet, and not like this – the position is hot, sure, but being stuck together like dogs for half an hour or more isn't so appealing. For that, he likes to lay Munakata's out on his back, allow them to be close and comfortable while they wait out the knot. He does, however, plan on wringing another orgasm out of Munakata before they get to that part. He releases Munakata's dick and returns to jerking him off, slow and soft this time, not at all useful when it comes to bring upon his climax. He bottoms out, just moving inside Munakata without thrusting, and rubs his thumb across the head of Munakata's cock again, teasingly this time. “Are you close? 

By the way of a reply, Munakata huffs. Of course he won't say it; even his version of surrender won't take them that far. Mikoto didn't expect verbal admission. He pulls out just enough so his cockhead presses directly against Munakata's prostate and proceeds to move back and forth the tiniest bit, every small motion designed to drive him out of his mind. His thumb keeps playing at the slit of Munakata's cock, spreading the beads of precome that emerge on every slow, small thrust. 

He's ready. He might not be willing to admit it in so many words, but Munakata's body speaks a clear language of its own. With a smirk that Munakata can't see, Mikoto leans in and runs his hand, still soiled with precome, along Munakata's jaw and cheek instead. For a moment, he combs it through Munakata's hair, gentle and soothing. Then, in one quick motion and without warning, he forcibly tilts Munakata's head to the side and attacks, feigning a bite, burying himself to the hilt in a single vicious thrust. 

Munakata's comes on the spot. He cries out, his body contracting around Mikoto's cock, all the while struggling in his grip. He's trembling with this temporary, insufficient release, and shudders when Mikoto lets go of his hair just to once again return to tormenting his oversensitive dick. 

“Bastard,” he chokes out, his voice hoarse. 

Mikoto kisses his neck, in the exact spot where he denied him the claiming bite just moments ago. “Soon, I promise. Lay down for me, yeah?” 

He pulls out and weathers the glare that Munakata sends him even as he obeys, lowering himself onto his back. He lets his legs fall wide with an expression that makes it more like a demand than a gesture of submission, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface, all shame and reservations gone and replaced by pure need. Not like Munakata doesn't try to mask it, even now; he's still wearing it with pride and stares Mikoto down, despite the come that's smeared all over his stomach in evidence of this recent climax, despite how obscenely hard his dick remains, glistening wet at the tip and searing hot to the touch, and despite the slight gape of his red and swollen hole. 

The sight alone steals a moan from Mikoto. He pumps himself once and licks his lips, hooks his hands underneath Munakata's knees and spreads him even further. He glances down to watch as he pushes back inside Munakata, watches his cock disappear into that tight heat, meeting barely any resistance at all. The pressure of Munakata's body around him is amazing, even better now that he's decided he won't have to keep the pleasure at bay for much longer. He does it again, pulls out all the way out and thrusts into him hard, and this time Munakata closes his legs around Mikoto's hips to keep him there, force him to quit playing and not draw this out again. Mikoto allows him this wordless command, bends over double and braces both hands, now free, on the sides of Mikoto's head. He leans in for a kiss, breathless and messy, and then mouths along Munakata's neck. The scars of his past bites are there, healed up, almost invisible, but Mikoto remembers every single one of them. For just a few days every year, Munakata belongs to him, and that knowledge rushes through him like an electric shock. 

Munakata turns his head to the side just a tad, extends his neck, offering himself, and this time Mikoto won't deny him the bite. Three or four more thrusts, deep and languid, and they're both back on the precipice – Mikoto's orgasm held at bay for too long already, while Munakata's body has been pushed so far that the slightest touch, the slightest stimulation, would bring him to the edge again. 

Mikoto bites down and Munakata writhes underneath him, instinct surely telling him to get away even while he presses his heels into Mikoto's back, ushering him in closer, deeper, urging his knot along. Mikoto catches Munakata's mouth for a kiss, swallowing his heavy moans, and then he feels himself swell up, the knot sealing them together for the next little while. He exhales, tension flowing out of him now that he's spent. His body feels heavy all of a sudden, his arms giving in and refusing to support his weight for much longer. It's like, for now, all his strength has been transferred to Munakata through his claim, making them equals once more. He feels Munakata's hand gently stroking the nape of his neck, and figures it's time for his own surrender. Something warm and content settles in Mikoto's chest, and he smiles, leaning into the caress. He allows himself to collapse onto Munakata, skin on skin, turned only slightly to the side to keep Munakata from having to bear his full weight. 

His own instincts tell him to stay as close as possible to _his_ omega, the bond fully realized now for the duration of this heat, and Mikoto revels in it. They still have some time; sunrise is a little while away and he can pretend that the coming days will be all their own, that they'll be able to stay here, safe and sheltered and undisturbed, lost in each other. 

Of course, that's not true – one king out of commission is bad enough, two would invite sheer chaos – but he won't wander too far, and he'll always return as quickly as possible.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [dreamwidth](https://geckoholic.dreamwidth.org/), [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacenerdz).


End file.
